


The Zaydag Incident

by Vermillions



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Sex, Consensual Sex, F/M, Kit Fisto in a mesh shirt, Undercover, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 15:10:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20099245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vermillions/pseuds/Vermillions
Summary: When elite criminal Gaal Zaydag is captured, Aayla Secura is sent undercover to host an illicit auction of military intel in Zaydag's stead. But this criminal never travels without arm-candy at their side, and with the clock ticking and GAR intelligence on the line, the Jedi reluctantly agree to send one of their own, Kit Fisto, along to their sting in the guise of an escort.





	The Zaydag Incident

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote up a sex scene one night and then needed an excuse for the premise of said sex scene, and that's how this entire ficlet came about. Basically I wanted a) Kit Fisto trussed up like he's going to ho it up at the club and b) to play around with roles, job-wise, and experimentation, bedroom-wise. It's my first time posting anything with smut in it, and it's... alien smut. This is my life now, I guess.
> 
> I made up lots of names and more than a few objects, but for the in-world things that I tried to get right: if I spelled something wrong I apologize, there's only so much mama can catch.

#

The exchange had not seemed complicated. In the guise of a rarely-seen arms dealer, and said arms dealer's entourage, four Jedi were to take part in a bidding war for access to GAR intelligence, to be sold along to the highest Separatist bidder. Get in, play a little make-believe, get out, nab the conspirators. Easy peesy.

While Aayla Secura enjoyed the occasional dose of subterfuge, she found that she preferred when that subterfuge was served up with a side of combat, or strategy, or some other form of skill. This mission seemed to lack all the above. The representative that the Pykes were supposedly sending had commed in an apology not ten minutes earlier. So much for nabbing some mob backers. Now the wait was on for their last attendee, a slave trader from Wroona. Once the slaver arrived in this loud, dimly lit club, arms dealer Gaal Zaydag would begin their little illicit auction, and Aayla, for the moment, was Gaal Zaydag.

#

It was a stroke of good luck for the underworld police on Coruscant when a badly-coded landing transmission pinpointed the arrival of Zaydag’s starship, Cato Rapture, in the capital. A group of several Jedi masters had been assembled shortly after a middle-aged human came running into the high temple, waving a holopad as though his life depended on it. Gaal Zaydag was on Coruscant to sell GAR intel— transport codes and weaponry schematics— to the highest bidders. And with support from the Jedi, and a troop of thirty clones, the underworld police had Zaydag in their custody only three hours after Lieutenant Bakra (aforementioned middle-aged human) had presented the intel, still out of breath, to the Jedi High Council. 

An unexpected bonus fell into their lap when one of Zaydag’s bodyguards agreed to provide information about the arms dealer’s plans on Coruscant in exchange for a deal, which he received: Zaydag was planning to meet potential buyers in person to perform the sales, and now the Jedi had every name on the exclusive guest list.

The guard did not flip on his boss until the day after the arrest, and Zaydag’s covert meeting, naturally, was scheduled for that very night. This gave the Jedi very little time to prepare. Masters Windu and Koon spent the early hours of the afternoon strategizing and plotting out access points with Lieutenant Bakra before selecting several available knights for the task at hand: impersonating an arms dealer and secret-seller in order to facilitate the purchase of false intel on GAR plans and codes, with a view to arresting a solid handful of mid to high-level underworld thugs. The initial holo-briefing, as projected to the group in one of the temple’s many meeting halls, was presented in scrolling basic, wrapping around a glowing spheroid mass of images and diagrams. These indicated that the plan would call for a Zaydag stand-in, a three to four-person security detail, and one or two companions for the fake Zaydag. Reputedly, the mysterious criminal was rarely seen— when Gaal Zaydag was seen at all— without an attractive plaything or two on each arm. For this reason Aayla felt tense before the briefing had even begun, and when Master Windu began selecting roles— he himself and Kit Fisto as personal guards, Ima Gun-Di and Stass Allie as backup— Aayla felt no better. She expected that before the night was out she'd find herself hanging on another master’s arm as obligatory twi'lek eye candy. But to her surprise, and relief, when master Windu addressed her he did so with the flash of a new, grainy holo amongst the other scattered images, a recording of a figure sauntering down the gangway of the Cato Rapture: A barely visible, narrow-framed twi'lek. It was impossible to determine from the fuzzy image, recorded from quite a distance away, any discernible features, but the two scantily-clad humans who followed just behind the twi'lek, and the guards that surrounded them, clearly indicated that this lithe little twi was Gaal Zaydag. 

Aayla was a bit relieved to learn that the role of elusive criminal was hers, and that the role of arm-candy would go to other parties, assumedly. While none of the targets had ever met Zaydag, and were as theoretically unaware of their physical appearance as the rest of the galaxy, Lieutenant Bakra felt that, in the interest of his informant’s security, it was best that even the Jedi not know what the real Zaydag, in custody on-planet, looked like. The council was not too pleased with this decision. Mace Windu, Stass Allie, and Ima-Gun Di would stand in as Zaydag’s faithful security team, and together the group would host this trap of a meeting. 

“As your backup act,” Mace Windu was saying, “we’ll provide cover if the sale sours. You’ll all be on an open comm, relay anything pertinent throughout the night. Lieutenant,” Mace had turned back towards Bakra, hands clasped behind his back, “can any of your civilian contacts provide us with… suitable escorts for this endeavor?”

Lieutenant Bakra— small, round-faced with a balding head and a pair of wide, dark eyes— swallowed slowly. He looked confused for a moment. Then, with the slow raise of Mace’s eyebrows, he seemed to understand. He coughed quietly and shuffled from one foot to the other. 

“Master Jedi, I’m sorry, but it’s… it’s going to be difficult to find anyone willing to… participate in that, uh, capacity. I don't-“

Mace interjected, “I understand it is short notice, but they will be well compensated for their time. A couple hours, no need to be any the wiser. Just like any escort job at any other club.”

Bakra sighed and mopped his forehead with a gray hankie. “You don’t understand, sir. These men you’ll be meeting… these are big goons we’re talking about. They’ve got their fingers in pies all over the underground. Even if you managed to get someone to agree to play along, no questions asked, once they see who’s on the other end of the buyer’s table they ain’t gonna stick around. The whole op could be blown, and we can’t afford to mess around with an opportunity like this.”

Mace put a hand to his chin and looked over at Plo, but Plo, likewise, was considering their options. Aayla wondered to herself silently whether or not the lack of any voluptuous entourage would really put a significant dent in their Zaydag-decoy act. She did not get a chance to voice this opinion.

“Master Windu,” said a quiet voice to Aayla’s left, “perhaps, if both backup and a… consort are required, one of us can be both.”

It was Kit Fisto, hands tented before him, a polite smile on his face. 

“Are you offering to play escort, Kit?” asked Plo, a hint of amusement very clear in his voice. 

“This way no civilians are involved unnecessarily,” said Kit, hands open. 

Plo nodded. Mace, however, had a face as blank as a desert, and he looked out across the holo in the center of the room at a consular at the far end of the hall. “Do you have anything… saucy for him to wear?”

The consular bowed and walked out, and Aayla found herself suppressing a grin.

Four hours later, standing near the forward entrance to the main hangar, the disguised Jedi took stock of their motley crew. Stass, Ima, and Mace were all dressed in various items, dark grey in color, with blaster holsters on their belts- or in Stass’s case a thin shunt for a rather hefty Corellian nightstick. Aayla had a jacket rather like a sport coat, glossy and cut low, almost to her navel, so as to be worn clasped below the stomach and without a shirt. The slacks, she mused, were breezy and light, and the heels, covered in spikes of black gemstones, were not very comfortable, but they lent her quite the dangerous air. The emerald green headdress she was sporting was bedecked with seemingly endless beaded chains, dangling in different loops and strands across her head and lekku. All in all, the group looked convincing; a pack of bruisers and an underbelly outlaw. But Kit had them all beat.

He arrived not two minutes behind Aayla, and though he conducted himself in his typical upright, easy-paced manner, he looked like another person entirely. He was dressed head to toe in black, most of his head tendrils arrayed behind his back in an elaborate plait, the boots on his feet boasting a substantial wedge to the heel. His pants were plexileather and taut as a drum, and the sleeveless mesh sheath on his torso could barely have been considered a shirt. He was beset with bangles, a leather bracer or two, a few charms tied to his tendrils here and there. But the most notable accessory by far was a leather collar, fastened at the front with a durasteel loop to which four straps were latched, solid leather at the joinder, becoming shimmering onyx links halfway down his chest. They were hooked loosely to belt loops on the unreasonably low waist of his pants, and they rattled softly as he walked. 

Unarmed and trussed up, Kit Fisto looked entirely foreign to his comrades. Plo was chuckling softly, and Kit, with a sweeping gesture of his right hand, bowed a little and winked in Plo’s direction as he joined the gathering. The wink revealed that the darkness around his eyes was not the effect of the dimly lit hangar, but rather the result of smoky eye-makeup shadowing his eyelids. Aayla was entirely taken aback. Her face felt rather warm as she turned away from Kit. 

Before long the group was making its way down the stairs and towards the waiting starship on the platform. Lieutenant Bakra and his troop sailed past, marching off towards their ships, heading into position. Aayla focused in on the names and stats rattling around in her head, listing off her would-be business partners as she approached the ship. But she spent more than a little of her focus on Kit’s backside as he walked in those oh-so-tight little pants. The platform was virtually clear by that time, with the rest of the group filing up the gangway as the night air billowed through their thuggish jackets, and Mace was speaking to several temple guards at the bottom of the stairs. 

Aayla didn't know what exactly possessed her to take the risk, but she let out a sharp wolf-whistle, eyes on the ground. Kit turned, face looking almost gaunt. But the look in his eyes was somewhere between an objection… and mischief. He gave her a small smile before boarding the ship. 

Now, Aayla knew, was not the time to be thinking about Kit. But she had seen precious little of him in the last several months. The last week marked the first time in four and a half months that they had been on Coruscant at the same time, and even then they had been unable to interact at all other than speaking briefly over commlinks and passing in the halls. Aayla had just returned from a mission on Malastare four days prior, and Kit, until that very morning, had been engaged in a security operation at the far side of the planet. It hurt Aayla's pride to think that she missed him, missed his presence, but she did. No more than six months could have passed since the pair of them began… whatever it was they were doing. Transferring the social hours spent together into physical hours as well. It was enough to be in contact, most of the time. But sometimes, in the early hours of grey morning, Aayla felt the need to hold him, to be held. It was not something she liked to dwell on. And Kit’s scanty little outfit, while quite the riot to see, was appealing in its own out-of-bounds kind of way. But now was not the time to dwell on Kit. Now it was time to get to work.

#

Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes had dragged by and still there was no sign of Wroonian slave trader Dim Praxil, arguably the biggest fish on their hook. So far everything had gone according to the general plan. Their entrance had been seamless, Aayla and her would-be bodyguards stalking through the nightclub towards the designated alcove like a pack of dangerous predators, with Kit sauntering in like a contented feline just to Aayla’s right. Bakra and his team were in surveillance pods outside, disguised with holos of the local surroundings, and they kept their eyes and ears trained in on their Jedi accomplices at all times. 

The mood had been urgent and tense as the supposed Gaal Zaydag settled in at one of the large round tables at the back of their private alcove, its glossy ceiling undulating as though it were made of grey waves of sand. But by the time ten minutes had passed, the introductory banter had been proffered, and refreshments had been delivered, the mood had petered out entirely. 

Medivus Trask, a gun runner from Karkaris, focused most of his leering, toothy attention on the two dancers out on the main floor just to the right of his seat, where he perched at the edge of the alcove like a raptor. The small, rotund human known as Thraggs, an intelligence specialist sitting at the opposite end of the same table, seemed compelled to twist his cocktail napkin in and out of various crumples and knots. There were two representatives from small separatist moons beside him, one hulking kel dor and one lanky devaronian, very different in appearance but united in a common love of gambling and girls.

Aayla sat on the inside of the largest table of the two, surveying those arrayed before her, chin always tilted fairly high, eyes vaguely disdainful. Kit sat to her left, legs crossed rather daintily, looking unentertained, lips slightly pouted. The dug to Kit’s left was fairly quiet, eliciting only the occasional grunt or two in objection to various different topics the pair of separatist governors raised. The whole pack was a bit on edge: Zaydag had informed them shortly after arriving that they would not proceed with business until everyone was present, so that no one buyer had the benefit of more time and consideration of the merchandise– or the asking prices– than any other. This was Aayla, and the entire operation crew, attempting to ensure a quick, consolidated roundup of evidence to prove that the slimeballs present were, in fact, as slimy as they seemed.

But the slime were getting restless. Every minute that ticked past without a sign of Praxil’s arrival was another minute of waiting, which was making several of the potential buyers nervous. Thraggs, at the far right of the foremost table, seemed agitated, brow moist, rattling speedy query after anxious lobbying ploy at Aayla from across the table. She dismissed most of his offers for buy-ins to secret databanks on several outer rim planets, which were the core of his eager lobbying scheme, and answered the majority of his questions quickly and dismissively. But he was not discouraged, and several queries regarding her experience with prison gate entry sequences on Kessel were so unexpected, and specific, that Aayla had to stall and sip lazily at her drink while Bakra’s team hastily sought out plausible excuses and usable data files to feed into her ear. 

After a minute or so of this, the dug Doge, who had been silent since taking his seat, addressed Aayla coolly. “Zaydag,” he said, all elbows (and knees) on the table, hands steepled in front of him, “we nearly met once. On Dantooine, that fuel raid near the Kaiishi Pass. You were on the opposite side of the ridge during the escape, but even from my speeder… I could have sworn that you were more… purple.”

Beside Aayla, Kit blinked in an almost sleepy fashion and looked at the dug as though he were a wall of drying cryo-paint, but Aayla could feel the arm around her shoulder tense up ever so slightly.

“If you are colorblind, Barsedda, that is regrettable.” Aayla said dryly. She felt a slight zing in the air, a tiny prickle in the force. And she took a very big risk. “But perhaps you are not. I was not at the Kaiishi Pass raid.”

The dug held Aayla’s gaze for a moment, then smiled, lifted his glass to her, and knocked his drink back. His posture softened, and he turned to look at the governors to his left. Aayla’s gamble had paid off.

But they were not out of the woods. Thraggs was looking at Zaydag’s security team, a lineup of blank-faced bodyguards standing as straight as lightning rods. He eyed them closely as a hyperion service droid rolled up to the table, several arms of cable extending from its sides, placing various drinks in front of their respective recipients. Kit had taken a fair amount of time to peruse his drink options and pretend to be as vapid and distracted as possible, and at length had decided upon the most ridiculous beverage he could find. The droid set it before him, a wide-lipped cocktail glass filled with an opaque beige liquid, filling and refilling the cup endlessly in a ring of four miniature, frothing waterfalls. It came with an alcohol-soaked slice of jogan fruit on a pink spike, the rims of the glass coated in fuzzy, edible pink fungi. 

As the drinks were delivered, Thraggs, sweating profusely now, stood up and walked over to Medivus Trask, who was intently watching the two Rhodian dancers on the runway at the far end of the alcove, nearest the bar. 

“S-something feels off, Medivus,” Thraggs said, eyes darting. 

“Relax. Have your drink, you nervous little freak. Wait till Praxil gets here.” 

Trask shoved Thraggs away, eyes still trained on the nearest dancer. She was crooking a finger in his direction, much to the loud despair of the attention-hungry separatist reps to her right. But Thraggs’ beady eyes kept darting over to Zaydag. She pretended not to notice and fiddled with the small blaster on her hip, hoping the action looked absent-minded and not nervous. The sound of heavy breathing popped in over the ear-comms as lieutenant Bakra opened his channel.

“Master Windu,” he began, voice thin and agitated, “your Jedi are putting them off! The moment that damn Thraggs gets too suspicious and leaves is the moment the rest of them consider it, or consider putting holes in all of you! We can’t afford to lose any of these crooks, this is our big break here! We can tangle up underground operations for this whole sector, and get you links to separatist smuggling operations! This-!”

“We are aware of the value of this operation,” Mace cut in coolly.

“Then can you please _loosen up_? You’re all standing ramrod straight, like you’re in a damn platoon. And Thraggs is staring at our Zaydag again. You need to throw him off, masters-“

“The other buyers remain unconcerned,” Plo said, attempting to soothe Bakra, but Aayla knew that that wasn’t quite true. Doge Barsedda had ceased with his prodding, and the others were pleasantly distracted, but the air crackled with distrust and suspicion. Thraggs’ eyes shifted between Stass, who was doing her best to appear slouched and nonchalant at the opposite end of the room, by the bar, to Aayla. Aayla stared back at him, cocking one eyebrow. Didn’t seem to help: he sat up straight and fidgeted in his seat. Mace had turned away from the others slightly, attempting to block any view of him speaking into the comm by standing just askance of Ima’s shoulder. 

This was not the behavior that set Haggit Thraggs off, nor Stass toying with her belt idlily, nor Kit, arm slung around Aayla’s shoulder, who had said absolutely nothing since their arrival. Instead it was a man, piss drunk, stumbling past a waitdroid and knocking a bowl of Danherian peanuts onto the floor with a loud, metallic crash and a slurred “Wassh where yer goin’, droid.” 

The noise shook Thraggs and he slid out of his seat in an instant, pulling at Trask’s arm. “Medivus,” he whined, “seriously, I don’t like this. I don’t trust these people. I’m out.” He moved to leave.

Medivus Trask, hoping to salvage his chance at accessing Dim Praxil’s slave supply line, told him to sit down. Thraggs shook his head, muttering about a conspiracy under his breath, hands flapping. Plo and Bakra were spouting different orders over the Jedi’s comms. Mace interjected and told Bakra to wall the place off with his officers, and one of the separatist governors had turned to look at the exchange between Thraggs and Medivus with tense curiosity. The air was electric and full of anxiety.

As Aayla tried to conjure up a quick plan to keep the group calm, a small blur of color appeared at her right. A piece of jogan fruit on a cocktail toothpick which Kit was proffering nonchalantly, his posture lax but his eyes restive. Aayla leaned in and took the fruit off its peg with her teeth. Acting casual was a fine plan, she thought as she chewed, eyes scanning the room, but it hadn’t exactly worked thus far.

There was another crash as the drunken patron, being hauled out by a surly Gamorrean, thrashed away from his escort and collided with a high-top table, knocking it, and the five shot glasses on its face, onto the ground. The noise was so loud that everyone seemed to be looking: the would-be bodyguards, the motley criminal crew, Kit. Bakra and Plo were still arguing over the comms and Kit was looking towards the commotion, his profile lit purple by the passing flash of the stage lights to Aayla’s left, his teeth flashing white in lips, temporarily, of blue. 

And Aayla had an idea. Less of an idea than an instinct. With the arguing, and the commotion, and the panic roiling all around them, Aayla balled her left hand up in the chains dangling from Kit’s choker and, with a solid tug, yanked him back towards her and into a kiss. 

The moment their lips touched Aayla’s mind recoiled. _Bad plan! Bad! Terrible!_ And for a second Kit was still against her mouth, shocked. But he placed his right hand at the base of Aayla’s neck and leaned into her. Nothing else had worked, perhaps a distraction _was_ in order. He sent a small feeling of agreement towards her mind as he opened his mouth against hers, and Aayla received it, relieved.

The chatter in their ears stopped momentarily, then resumed in quiet, tense confusion. But the pair ignored their comms and kept at it. Aayla pushed herself against Kit, threading one hand between the tendrils on the right side of his head, the other hand still wrapped around the chains on his necklace. Kit went out of his way to do this properly, slipping a hand up to Aayla’s waist, toying with the hem of her blazer, pushing it up to feel her skin, warm against his cool hands. She was practically in his lap, and as their tongues met and their bodies rolled the voices on their comms went silent. 

For a moment all the hubub of the crowded room faded away to white noise, wiped away by ragged breathing and pounding blood in eager bodies. Aayla’s nails scratched lightly along one tendril and briefly, asone of Kit's hands moved its way slowly from Aayla’s hip down to her backside, the room melted away. But Kit could feel the eyes of their criminal comrades on them, as could Aayla, and after one last hungry kiss they parted, lips a little plump, faces warm. Zaydag looked at her companion with a haughty but approving expression, and the nautolan dropped his head onto her shoulder, wiping some spit from his lips with a slow, languid swipe of his hand. 

“Smart to bring your own entertainment,” Medivus said to Zaydag. His dancer friend had gone on to flirt with a pair of weequays at the opposite end of her runway, to his vague dismay. 

“You’re all kriffing boring,” said Zaydag bluntly. Thraggs was sitting down again, mopping his brow but looking slightly less perturbed. Barsedda appeared to be asleep. 

“… Well, that worked.” Bakra’s voice proffered over the comms. Aayla swore she could feel master Windu’s displeasure all the way from the opposite side of the room. Then Plo Koon said, “it’s him.” 

The entire alcove watched as a pair of Bantha-skin boots appeared on the stairs, attached to the sleek, threatening visage of Dim Praxil, flanked by two guards. Thraggs and the separatists rose to greet him, but Praxil raised a hand and motioned for them to remain seated. He removed a Nemoidian cigar from the front pocket of his long coat, draped over his shoulders like a mantle, and lit it, nodding towards Zaydag. 

“I don’t believe in being ‘fashionably late’, Mr. Praxil. Or wasting time.” Said Gaal Zaydag. 

Dim Praxil took a long drag on his cigar and bowed. “My apologies,” he said, lowering himself into a chair with near feline grace. As he sat his eyes scanned the table leisurely, and he leaned back, purple smoke billowing from his cigar.

“So. Shall we dance?”

##

It couldn’t have taken more than ten minutes for each criminal to offer up a juicy treat, or to bid on another. By the time the hour was up each individual in that alcove had bought and traded in espionage and weaponry several times over. Once Praxil had revealed the star system through which he routed his “merchandise”, the bust was already in motion, underworld police storming through the entrance as Jedi lit their sabers and blocked their quarry at every angle. Kit could still see the enraged, purple face of Mr. Thraggs as he was dragged, screaming, from the establishment. 

“I told you! I knew something was off! I KNEW!” Thraggs caught Kit’s eye then and Kit, with a flourishing smile, gave him a wiggly-fingered wave. At this Thraggs simply howled, beyond words, as they thrust him in the back of an armored speeder.

The Jedi were back inside the temple now, arrayed around the holographic, ecstatic image of lieutenant Bakra, positively beaming, as Medivus Trask was led past him and off to a cell. The mission was a success, the injuries were few, and not a single casualty was sustained. A good day. A short, sweet success. Kit was reminded of simpler times, clearer assignments with familiar objectives, and without the bloody backdrop of war. He shut his eyes for a moment, his nostrils and tendrils briefly assaulted by the smell of metal and blood and blaster burns.

The terminal briefing was short. Kit spent half of it removing the dark powder from his eyelids with a cleansing rag and absolute relish. Mace looked at him askance, several times, eyes narrow. Kit returned his glances with the utmost calm and a pleasant half-smile. Aayla, resilient and immovable, ignored any glances sent her way and spoke only when addressed. As the holo blinked off and the group was dismissed, she turned on her heel and made her way up the stairs without so much as a glance at Kit. He nodded to himself and bent down, picking up the effects bag at his feet containing his discarded robes. When he turned back towards the entryway Aayla was at the top of the stairs, still looking dead ahead, but as she left the hall her lekku swung round in two matching loops, tips crossing in an ‘x’ near the small of her back before resuming their natural sway as she walked. This was a lek-sign Kit easily recognized:

_invitation_.

###

Aayla sensed his presence before she heard his knock at her door.

“Come,” she said, “it is open.”

Kit stepped inside, footsteps oddly soft in the high-heeled boots they’d given him. And Aayla suddenly, oddly, felt nervous.

“I owe you an apology,” she said, turning to face him as the door swished shut. Kit’s brow softened, an expression akin to the raising of a single eyebrow.

“For what?”

“I should have thought of something else,” Aayla said somberly, “it was unfair and inconsiderate to force myself on you in such a way.”

Kit blinked and smiled softly. “It worked quite well, and perhaps thinking of a different idea would have taken too long and upset the plan. I understood your aim.”

Aayla nodded silently, a tense bob of the head. They were both thinking about it now, playing that kiss over again in their minds. Wet lips, dry cloth, smooth skin and hungry hands.

Kit let out a small chuckle and Aayla looked up at him. “I certainly did not hate it,” he said.  
Aayla smiled in spite of herself. Kit shook his head, lowering his bag to the floor. 

They were both quiet for a moment, Aayla turning to open the window at the far end of the room, the sound of traffic in the upper levels of Coruscant wafting in like a warm hum. Aayla stood for a moment, half silhouetted in the dim light of the room, half shrouded in the darkness from outside. When she turned back to him Kit was reminded of ink, flowing. She had a certain sway in her movement, fluid, yet sometimes abrupt. That fluidity was completely lost on Kit in that bar, Aayla had seemed sharp, threatening. Unfamiliar. He was impressed by the change.

“For a moment,” Kit found himself saying as Aayla walked away from the window, “I felt almost… as though I was not present at all. Or rather as though what governs me, my motivations and restraints… as though they were gone. And it was just my will, my being, separate from my mind. From my reality.”

She watched him speak, standing several feet away, silent and still. Kit blinked, looking momentarily sheepish. “Quite a good kiss, I suppose,” he quipped.

Aayla felt an odd, if brief, ache. A kind of melancholy at the thought of day-to-day normalcy. The thought of returning to the 327th at the end of the week. Aayla did not dislike command. In fact she enjoyed it, something which, as the years passed, made her increasingly uncomfortable. And now the thought of returning to her corps, her men, returning to life as half a Jedi and half a general, it made her… sad. Just momentarily. As though abandoning the evening’s persona was a bit of a loss. That person, that criminal, she was wild and dangerous and she had a freedom that Aayla did not. One Aayla knew that she would never choose. Still…

“It was nice to forget for a moment,” she found herself saying, eyes vaguely on Kit’s silhouette. “To forget the war, to forget what the Jedi have become. Just to be… simple. Perform a simple ruse. And maybe to forget myself, just a little.”

Kit nodded and Aayla was struck by how odd his appearance seemed in the dim light, wrapped up in those unfamiliar, tight clothes. He was pacing back and forth before the door, bathed in the shadows. It was unlike him to pace, to be restless. It made her feel restless. It made her want to approach him and stop him in his tracks. To touch him. To act on pure, instinctual desire.

“Maybe that was it,” she said, eyeing the floor. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and Kit watched the crystals on her heels glint in the light as she moved. Sensual, commanding. And Kit felt himself swallowing hard. 

Aayla spoke again. “Maybe it was just the opportunity to…. to be…”

“… To be other people for a while.” Kit finished quietly. 

She nodded slowly and met his eyes. They had the same softness to them as they always did, the same quietude, but it seemed as though they were narrowed, as much as Nautolan eyes could narrow. The skin around the edges was taught and there was an unusual shine, she thought, to each eye. They looked black, and she could see the lust swirling behind the darkness. Kit looked… barbarous. 

Aayla felt her core constrict, a white-hot chill below her stomach. She was hit with such a wave of raw arousal that the tips of her lekku tingled. And she had those necklace chains in her hands again, and Kit had his hands on her waist, their faces meeting urgently, recklessly, as they moved towards the center of the room. But Aayla stopped, and, wedging her right foot in between Kit’s feet, she turned them both towards the south side of the room. Without a thought, she seized the Force and it pushed Kit straight back against the nearby wall. 

She raised her hands slightly, stunned, and immediately opened her mouth to ask if he was alright. She did not get a chance to speak. Kit’s arms darted out and grabbed her by the hips, yanking her to him with the sharp scrape of her heels against the floor. He caught her easily, pressing his mouth to hers as she landed in his arms, moving a hand to the base of her neck, tongue darting into her mouth. It was unlike him to be so brusque and Aayla, surprised, found herself releasing an unusually high moan. Equally surprising. He _liked_ being pushed. She liked being pulled.

So she pushed some more. 

Aayla grabbed the hand that was plastered to the small of her back and tugged hard on the arm cradling her head, taking advantage of his immediately-loosened grip and pinning his arms up against the wall. She pulled away, eyes like steel, mouth set in a firm line. Kit’s lips formed a closed, thin smile, and Aayla swore that it was the first time Kit Fisto had ever looked dangerous. She hoped it would not be the last.

She rubbed up against him like a stretching cat. Ever so slowly she dragged her hips across his, their gazes locked. The mesh of his shirt tickled as it brushed across the strip of her torso exposed by the plunging neckline of her jacket. Her hardened nipples felt raw as they pressed against the silken jacket lining. Her face was blank and set, as though it were carved from stone. Kit could not take his eyes from hers. Her stare felt commanding, vaguely brutal. It was delightful. He could tell from her strong grip on his wrists that she wanted very much to be in control, to toy with him. And Kit discovered that he did not mind this at all.

Aayla pressed into him, sliding her left leg in between his legs, very pleased to feel how hard he was against her thigh, how warm. He cocked his head to the left and blinked lazily, peering at her with an amused, questioning gaze. She responded by burying her face in the crook of his neck, planting kisses there, nipping at his collar, kissing her way back up to his jaw, his chin, his nose, brushing her lips across his waiting ones, time and again, without settling there. 

An idea struck her then, and she kissed her way up his left cheek, to his eyebrow, his forehead… and back down to his gills. And gingerly, with the tiniest flick, she gave the edge of his widest gill a lick. 

Kit went rigid. He sucked in a breath, a thin hiss, as though he had touched something cold, a tingle of sensation sweeping through his head tendrils like a wave. Aayla leaned back, immediately concerned, but felt him push forward, back into her, with a shaky exhale. Oh, it was a good reaction after all. 

She licked little lines across the spread of his gills, feeling them moving against her tongue, flapping open and closed, undulating with the beating of Kit’s hearts. Aayla felt brazen, she felt bold. She felt very wet. And she slid the tip of her tongue inside the largest of the slits, tracing the inner edges. They tasted salty.

Two things happened. First, the gill flapped shut against her tongue, a fleshy, flat grip, and then released, and then clamped down again. Aayla was briefly reminded of a Mirialan cage dancer she’d met on Nar Shadaa, a woman with a vice for a vagina. 

Then, as the gill fluttered, Kit became jelly. It felt as though a feather was dancing its way along his nerves, but instead of tickling him it was lighting him on fire. He felt his legs wobble and as his eyes screwed shut he found that he was unable to prevent a strangled moan from escaping his lips. And Aayla felt a happy shiver crawl its way up her spine. 

Kit seldom had sexual partners who knew about any of the erotic sensitivities of Nautolan head tendrils, and he had not broached the subject of gill sensitivity with Aayla because, well, it would probably have seemed fairly odd. But apparently not; he felt his tendrils wriggling their way around Aayla, tugging at her clothes. She was quite the perceptive woman. Kit’s unbearably tight plexileather pants were strangling his crotch, and he could feel pre-cum beginning to drip out of his trapped penis as his gills writhed with the attention.

Aayla was very focused on her work, and Kit let a contented smile fall into place as his tendrils roamed across Aayla’s body, to and fro. For that evening’s disguise he had not tied his tendrils back in his usual manner, instead the topmost row had been woven together in an elaborate plait, which he had since undone. Now they were all unencumbered, and he focused his foremost pair, the lowest set on either side of his neck, on finding Aayla’s lekku. One lek was pinioned between their bodies, and the other swung behind Aayla as she licked away. The two tendrils circled around the thicker appendages, tugging the left one forward to join the right, sandwiched between their chests. Kit ever so slightly pushed his hips into Aayla’s, leaning back against the wall, to create a bit of space between their bodies. This Aayla did not want, but she had very little time to complain. On a whim Kit began squeezing her lekku with his tendrils, sliding the wiggly appendages up and down each thick, sensitive lek. Aayla felt odd for a moment, Kit’s tendrils had never been quite this active. They typically wrapped themselves around her arms and chest; or her waist and thighs, depending on the location of Kit’s head; but they had rarely engaged with her lekku before. She continued toying with Kit’s eager gills, saliva dripping its way onto her chin. 

And then she stopped. She pulled her tongue back into her mouth and stood still, staring at Kit’s freshly-moistened gills, blinking. It felt like…. she was being pumped. Like her lekku were being pumped. She turned her head to look at the green tendrils, curled around her lekku, sliding up and down like they were greasing a pole. Kit felt her turn her head, and he began to tug at the lekku a little faster. Aayla’s brow furrowed. She felt odd. She felt…. 

A pulse in each lek. Strong, getting stronger. Keeping time with the tendrils’ strokes. Her ear-cones were ringing, being flooded with the rhythm of her heartbeat, echoing in her lekku and pounding in her ears like a drum. She felt a small pang in her clit and a rush of overwhelming sensation to the tips of her lekku. They were wiggling now, trying to curl their way around each tendril. With Aayla having ended her ministrations on his gills, Kit took advantage of her proximity to his mouth and wrapped his lips around her right ear-cone. She pushed into him, hard, because she found herself having trouble standing, letting out a tight-lipped moan as Kit swirled his tongue around the soft tip of her tingling ear-cone. As her lekku trembled she found herself wondering if this was what it was like to get a hand job. She surmised that it was. 

Aayla squirmed. There were a dozen tendrils groping at her torso, keeping her pressed against Kit as their two comrades tortured her lekku. She was losing it. Her heartbeat had now moved from her ears to her stomach, and from her stomach to her vulva where it was throbbing now, causing her to clench. She felt so close. And she writhed in Kit’s grasp, releasing his wrists and pushing backwards, away from him. Force, he was going to make her come in her pants. 

As she pulled back, Kit let go, reining in his tendrils and dropping his newly-freed hands to his sides. Aayla was breathing hard. So was he. She reached out her arms and he crashed into them, their lips coming together for a needy, almost anguished, kiss. Aayla fought against the raging urge to release “mmm” after “mmm” into their kiss as they moved towards her bed-pallet. She hated little, wiggly moans. They made her feel as though she had no control. Despite her efforts she released a few, rewarded with small groans from the typically quiet Kit. Why were their kisses so _good_?

Aayla felt her heels hit the bed, and as she stopped Kit pushed a leg between her thighs, knocking her off balance, setting her down on the bed before coming to rest above her. She grabbed his head and locked their lips together, but after a moment felt differently. She planted her left hand on his right shoulder, tangled their legs, and flipped Kit onto his back, coming up to sit on his lap as he lay splayed out beneath her. She sat back and looked at him, dragging her fingers across his mesh-covered stomach. 

He reached out to touch her, but she said “no.” She was surprised by how forcefully the word came out. Kit blinked and resolutely dropped his hands. Aayla sat for a moment, subconsciously biting her lip. The sight caused a flash of heat to go screaming through Kit’s body like a fireball. 

Slowly, the twi’lek began to undress the nautolan. She slid her hands down to the hem of his too-tight shirt and slowly pushed it up towards his head, trailing her fingers across his abs as they rolled beneath her, lightly dragging the cloth across one of his pert pecs. Then she unbuckled the elaborate collar and felt a bit sad to let it go. Once the shirt was over Kit’s head and tendrils, Aayla removed her green headdress with its dangling little jeweled chains, dropping it onto the floor with an unceremonious crash. 

She just looked at Kit for a while, mouth set somewhere between a smirk and a pout. Then she began to unfasten the tiny clasps on her jacket, ever so slowly. One – a beat. Two – another. Kit felt like a nail file was being run along his nerves as Aayla moved like syrup, eyes locked with his all the time. It seemed to him like ten minutes had gone past before the damn top was finally cast onto the floor. They were both still for a moment, just looking. Then Aayla unhooked the stay at the waist of his pants and dragged the zipper down as though it were a chore. Her vulva was aching now, and the ache moved inward, sitting inside her like a ball of needles. 

She started to slide backwards, moving to swing her right leg back and take herself off of his lap, but Kit had had enough. He grabbed the ties on the hips of her pants and pulled her back down onto his lap. He did not let go, fists tight around the carefully-tied knots. Aayla’s mouth was slightly open now, her cheeks flushed purple. Kit was looking at her so intensely that for a moment she forgot to breathe. He was so beautiful with those tendrils spread out around his head like a green halo. 

“Aayla,” he said, and it was stern, and harsh, and low. Aayla’s stomach did a somersault. 

She leaned down over him, hands on either side of his head, until their noses almost touched. His eyes were a swirl of different hues, black and brown, and almost red, watching her watch him. 

“How badly do you want me?” She whispered, and she could not believe that she had said it. 

Kit let out a soft chuckle and smiled, and it was his best smile, wide and honest and captivating. His brows softened as he watched her hazel eyes roam across his face.

He exhaled and answered, “I am in _pain_.”__

_ _Aayla laughed. She couldn’t help it, she felt embarrassed suddenly, vulnerable. The tips of her breasts brushed across his chest._ _

_ _“I am too,” she acknowledged. _ _

_ _And Kit reached up and grabbed her, rolling them over, and when they kissed Aayla felt like her head was swimming. Kit untied her pants as fast as he could, ripping them off her. Aayla felt the cold air hit her now exposed, wet groin and stifled a happy gasp, kicking off her shoes. She began pulling at the waist of Kit’s ridiculously tight pants and he reluctantly pulled away from her to shove them, with effort, down to his thighs as she yanked at his boots, laughing. The whole outfit was absolutely ridiculous, and Kit cursed as he yanked the cuffs of the too-tight trousers over his feet. He finally freed himself and he grabbed her waist in the same fell swoop. _ _

_ _“Come here,” he said quietly, but she was already there, and she _hurt_. They both did. She pushed him onto his back and noticed she’d begun to tremble as Kit kissed her, the warmth of his tongue on hers felt like comfort, and she grabbed at him fiercely, maybe too hard, trying her best not to let _please touch me, please, I need you_ escape her lips. Kit jolted as he felt the base of his penis touch her, felt how wet and hot she was. His eyes were closed, but he could feel the outer membrane watering. She had asked how badly he wanted her, and he decided that that was a desire that was beyond words now. He was breathing like he’d been running. His loins were sore._ _

_ _They scrambled together, clutching each other tightly, out of breath, ragged, sweating. Aayla pushed the head of his penis up to her vulva. She hissed, Kit grunted. She was right on top of him, and she began to lower herself onto the head. It would be so easy to slip in, she was dripping. _ _

_ _But Kit had his hands on her hips, and as Aayla pushed down, he thrust up. And straight into her, up to the base. Aayla’s vision went white. She slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide, as a scream rent its way out of her mouth, muffled, but loud. Her vagina clenched hard as she froze, doing everything in her power not to come then and there. She sat for a moment, breathing heavily, hand still clenched over her mouth, as Kit lay immobile beneath her. His face contorted into an ecstatic grimace, and the groan that escaped him was as long as it was deep. He felt delirious. She was clenched around him so tightly he thought he might burst. She felt _so good_. __

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

_ _And Aayla started to move, and Kit opened his eyes to watch her. She looked as though she was going to cry, slowly lifting herself up and down, slower each time, as though if she went any faster she’d break. He put one hand on her waist, and another on the soft flesh of a breast, the nipple he kneaded between his fingers was so smooth and stiff. Green on blue. _ _

_ _Aayla’s hands were balled up in fists, pressed into Kit’s stomach, and they were shaking. There was moonlight on her side, glancing off her face, her shoulder, her left breast. The emotion Kit felt in that second was so poignant and raw it terrified him. And Aayla was stooping down now, arms around his neck, their chests pressed together, kissing him so softly it felt like velvet. And he moved against her, and she whimpered against his mouth. Aayla never whimpered. She hated it. She felt so out of control and so lightheaded, and she hated knowing she’d never wanted anyone the way she wanted Kit, so desperately, and every time she had him she wanted him even more than before. Her body felt like it was a wave. Kit arced up gently, slowly, and something happened. Aayla felt it. She felt _as_ him. Felt his pleasure. And Kit felt hers. Each other’s lifeforce, at once, as one Force. __

_ _ They were both still for a moment, staring at each other, mouths agape. They were themselves, and each other, and two people, but one. And feeling each other’s emotions, there was a change. They didn’t even think about it. They didn’t have to. There had been some kind of line that separated their intimacy from emotion and it had been blown away. They were exposed, and naked, and blanketed and whole. And they were kissing again, moving slowly, heart to hearts. Aayla tangled her hands in Kit’s tendrils, feeling them wrap around her wrists and dance with the tips of her lekku. She could feel tears forming behind her lashes, and her release swelling inside her like a ball of heat, ready to blow. _ _

_ __ _

_ __ _

“Kit,” she exclaimed, choked out, breathless. And Kit was flooded with a desire to hear his name on her lips like that, on the edge of control, a desire to make her feel this way again. To give her everything he had to give. He was somewhere between joy and agony. It felt like a furnace inside her, she held him so tightly he could feel his shaft spasming. His body writhed and his chest ached. They moved together, a little faster, gripping each other tight. One more stroke… and they collided. Spots danced behind Kit’s eyes, and he felt her name escape his mouth like a strangled plea, voice breaking in his throat. Aayla could hardly breathe, unable to make a sound. Wave after wave of euphoria crashed over them. Their toes curled. Their bodies shook. And for a moment there was nothing but silence and rapture. 

_ _And then they were limp, collapsed, gasping for air, aware again of themselves, and the moonlight, and the room. Kit could not bring himself to look at Aayla. She was lying on top of him, glistening with sweat, buttocks twitching. He was still inside her, he could feel his hearts beating in the head of his penis, warm and shuddering. There was sweat in his eyes. _ _

_ _At length Aayla rolled off of him, but she did not meet his eyes. They lay there, eyes on the ceiling, wind in the curtains, silent. Aayla’s old fashioned clock ticked quietly in the corner. City sounds wafted in through the cracked window. They said nothing for a long time._ _

_ _After nearly ten minutes of silent contemplation, their sweat cold, their heartbeats returned to their usual paces, Aayla spoke._ _

_ _“We cannot do this anymore.” _ _

_ _She did not look at Kit. And he did not look at her. He knew she was right. The intimacy they had shared, for so brief a moment, went beyond the physical. They had felt each other in the Force, and all the emotions they had hidden away and ignored came rocketing to the surface at lightspeed. Kit had never felt that level of intimacy with anyone. Ever. He suspected that Aayla had not either. After her kidnapping as a Padawan, the brainwashing, the Force possession, Aayla had been conscious of her psychic walls at all times. They were rock solid, they never wavered, her mind was always sheltered. But in a split second those walls had been eliminated, like they were never there at all. And Aayla lay there feeling odd… because she did not mind it. Nothing about that intimacy felt wrong. She did not feel violated, but rather liberated. That frightened her. She shut her eyes and inhaled slowly._ _

_ _“You should go.”_ _

_ _She was right again. Kit lay there for a moment, hands clasped on top of his stomach, before sitting up slowly and reaching for the effects bag he had taken back from Plo. He unzipped the bag and began to dress in his training clothes. Aayla sat up and faced the opposite wall, wrapping her arms around her knees. Kit donned his pants, stood, and grabbed the pieces of his discarded disguise. Aayla tried to ignore him as he packed the garments into the bag. She tried to ignore the pregnant silence. She tried to ignore the intimacy, the sex, the mission, the Force…._ _

_ _Kit’s footfalls sounded distant as they padded around the pallet and towards the door. He did not look at her. She did not look up at him, just watched his legs pass her and make their way towards the door._ _

_ _And then she had hold of his pantleg. She hadn’t even thought about. And she was still not looking at him. But she felt sick, right in the middle of her chest, a burning, anguished feeling. She felt consumed._ _

_ _Kit pivoted and looked over his shoulder at her. She was looking across the room, away from him, at nothing. Her hand was still clutching the cuff of his pants. He watched her swallow hard. And he took a deep breath and put the bag on the ground. He sat down beside her on the pallet, looking ahead. They did not speak._ _

_ _The clock ticked. The breeze blew in. The city bustled outside. The Force hummed._ _

_ _At length Aayla looked at Kit. And he looked over at her. And both of them seemed unable to find the right words to say. So Kit reached up and touched Aayla’s cheek. And her eyes shone as she looked at him, and she seemed miserable and content all at once as she reached out and cupped his chin. And they sat that way for a while. Aayla held Kit’s face in both hands, and Kit cupped her face in one hand, and they pressed their foreheads together, eyes shut, breathing in-sync. They meditated for an hour like that, silently. When they separated, Aayla lay back down, and Kit settled in beside her. They slept easily, one set of palms touching, until dawn washed over the temple, and reality resumed._ _

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments will be super appreciated <3


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